


Customary

by spinel



Series: Bendoverwatch Week 2019 [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blowjobs, Body Worship, Deep Throating, Demisexuality, M/M, bendoverwatch week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 18:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18057452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinel/pseuds/spinel
Summary: The first time it happens, it’s fast, and they’re sparring.





	Customary

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you want to write a thing, and the thing that comes out is totally not that thing.
> 
> For Bendoverwatch week #2, I picked body worship, and I thought I’d try my hand at writing Hanzo. And instead, I accidentally wrote blow jobs, tried to wedge body worship in there, struggled with word and pacing, and ended up with an angsty pwp where Hanzo has a specific (is that even the word I want to use...) sexuality. 
> 
> Please be kind when/if criticising this depiction of demisexuality/asexuality: sexuality is messy, and the sexuality of a fictional assassin belonging to the Japanese mafia even more so. Some of it is drawn from my own experience, and some of it is artistic license. 
> 
> Really, the moral of the story is: no Hanzo POV for me.
> 
> For specific warnings/spoilers, please see the end notes. Let me know if you feel I should warn for other specifics.

 

 

It is not that Hanzo doesn’t know pleasure, or isn’t interested in it. He’s had sex, with men when he could choose and with women when he couldn’t—sex is customary, and the _Shimada-gumi_ had strict rules. No, it is only that he has done without since even before his actions against Genji. It took all his energy to conform to expectations and execute the clan’s whims; after Genji, it took all his energy to dispatch both the clan’s pathetic assassins and the clan heads themselves as he remained on the run; and after that... after that, Genji returned from the dead and it turned out he was never dead at all. The amount of effort it still takes not to skewer Genji every time he opens his mouth wars with the guilt constantly threatening to overtake him.  

So no, Hanzo isn’t one to take his time if he ever feels the urge to put his hand down his pants. But McCree—

McCree makes him want to. 

It isn’t that any of their encounters are specifically slow; far from it. The first time it happens, it’s fast, and they’re sparring. Hanzo has the advantage in hand-to-hand combat but McCree’s been trained by both the military and black ops: different skill sets present different challenges, and they both have insomnia. Hanzo’s trained himself long ago to ignore secondary body reactions, so when he pins McCree down with a shout of victory, he doesn’t quite realise why McCree deliberately goes slack, eyes dark and gleaming, until McCree thrusts his hips up and grinds his thigh against Hanzo’s extremely hard cock. 

The pleasure hitting him is like missing the landing when he vaults onto concrete. The hot rush of surprise and relief makes him cry out and he slumps against McCree, working his hips against McCree’s thigh frantically. It doesn’t even take him a minute to finish.  

“Not gonna lie,” McCree drawls when he’s done as he slowly takes his own cock out, “this is a _much_ better outcome than bein’ pummelled to the ground.” 

“That in an apt description of alternative events,” Hanzo huffs absently as he still tries to catch up. McCree is gently repositioning him, one of his knees nudging Hanzo’s a little further apart and his free hand—the prosthetic one—pushing at one of Hanzo’s shoulder until Hanzo’s on all fours and their crotches no longer touch, so that McCree has more room to manoeuvre. Hanzo feels bereft, his own cock softening in the mess he made in his underwear, no longer pressed from shoulder to hip to the furnace that is McCree and the high of orgasm slipping away almost as quickly as it overcame him—

“Yeah,” McCree sighs. He tilts Hanzo’s head just a little, to make sure he’s looking at him in the eye, and leisurely pulls at his cock. “Shit, Hanzo, continue to look like that.” 

Hanzo scowls as he feels the blood rush to his cheeks. He shifts his weight between his hands and knees—he’s not sure what he should be doing here, presumably McCree doesn’t want his hand or his knee, and he’s not pushing his head down to get his mouth. Hanzo’s now acutely aware of his uncomfortable cooling come—

“No no no,” McCree pants. His hand is not going any faster, slow and tight on his cock, the head red and exposed and _indecent_ , but his other comes to rest by Hanzo’s ear and his breath is noticeably faster. “Just look at me, will you? I like it when you look at me, I’ve been thinkin’ about it, I just wanna see your pretty face—“

Hanzo can’t bring his hands to cover his face so he _knows_ McCree doesn’t miss whatever expression he makes—he’s suddenly too hot under his skin, even though he’s just come and he should ostensibly be done. His breath speeds up with McCree’s even though they’re no longer touching where it counts, and when he unwittingly licks his lips McCree moans and thumbs at his bottom lip. Hanzo takes the hint, works his tongue around the metal digit, and keeps on looking at McCree—the man apparently likes his face, and watching him take his pleasure makes Hanzo’s insides clench and twist with a strange anticipation.

It doesn’t take long for McCree to find release. The man grunts, cups Hanzo’s jaw in a fleeting caress, and bucks under him. He doesn’t look at his cock once, eyes fixed on Hanzo. Hanzo’s not even sure McCree’s blinked since they started this whole thing.

“C’mere,” McCree finally says, when it’s clear he’s done.

Hanzo shrugs his hand off and sits back on his haunches. “As much as I’d like to, I believe I am more uncomfortable.” He studiously doesn't look at McCree’s cock. It’s still splayed out, long and soft and lying against his thigh in a wet and creamy mess.

By the time he realises he feels the strangest urge to _lick_ it all away, McCree’s sat up and tucked himself out of view. “So I take it that you _would_ like to?” 

“I—“ Hanzo stops himself to take stock of the question. He acknowledges his previous urge, dismisses it to examine later, and says, “I believe I was adequate, and it is customary, is it not?”

McCree frowns. “That a strange way of sayin’ yes. You gonna give me more to go on, here?”

Hanzo shrugs. “You’re warm,” he says after a beat. “It would be pleasing.”

Strangely, this doesn’t stop McCree’s frown, even as Hanzo gives him a hand and they walk towards the showers together. Hanzo feels loose and comfortable, despite his soiled undergarments, and he basks in the feeling and in McCree’s presence as they get clean alongside each other. He makes sure not to face McCree head-on because his cock still seems to make Hanzo’s mouth water. Hanzo doesn’t remember particularly enjoying blowjobs—coming must have relaxed him more than he thought. 

 

The second time it happens, they are on the roof, Hanzo with sake and McCree with bourbon. The sun is setting on Watchpoint: Gibraltar, and they are both chasing the last rays of summer in silence. Hanzo is warm, as close to content as he can be, when he realises McCree has been staring at him. 

“Do you want my mouth?” Hanzo asks him. 

McCree chokes on his bourbon, and it takes him five minutes to stop coughing. “You’re an asshole, Shimada,” he splutters, and Hanzo smirks. “And _Christ_ ,” he continues with feeling, “give a man some warnin’.”

Hanzo shrugs. “You were looking.”

“Can’t claim you don’t know why, now.”

“And I wasn’t,” Hanzo says. “Hence my offer.”

McCree laughs. “Don’t think I’ve ever had an offer like this before. Zero to two-sixty, Christ. You wanna blow me now?”

Hanzo frowns. “You were looking,” he repeats himself. 

McCree’s eyes narrow. “And that wasn’t my question now, was it? I can look if I want. Don’t need nothin’ to come outta that.”

Hanzo huffs. “You ask too many questions. If you don’t want it, just say so and spare us both.” 

“Hey, no,” McCree says. “Fuck.” He pauses, looking torn—Hanzo can’t quite understand why. “I want it.” 

Hanzo drains his cup, elbows his way in between McCree’s legs, and unzips him to take his cock out. It’s been a long time since he’s used his mouth this way, and McCree is no small man. But his cock is not fully hard yet, and Hanzo has had any gag reflex trained out of him.

He swallows McCree down, and it’s like riding a bike or drawing a sword: he’s no longer fourteen or eighteen or twenty-two, with Ryu or Yuusuke or Minato, but the movements are the same. He uses his hands at the base of McCree’s cock first, feels McCree thicken and hit at the back of his throat when he relaxes, and expects the taste and the struggle to suck and to breathe when his nose hits McCree’s crotch.

He hears McCree gasp, and suddenly there are hands softly carding through his hair, fingers cupping his cheek and rubbing under his eyes, and a steady stream of English and Spanish obscenities coming out of McCree’s mouth. Hanzo tilts his head up to to look, McCree’s cock sliding further back in his throat, and McCree’s face is wide open, wonder and pleasure and awe written across his features as he looks straight at Hanzo. 

Hanzo does not expect the sudden bolt of desire that runs though him. He’s so surprised he chokes, and has to focus to find the rhythm again. It is almost meditative, suck-pause-breathe and bask in the strange warmth suddenly suffusing him, that he doesn’t quite understand why McCree starts pushing him away. 

“Hanzo, off, I’m gonna—“

Hanzo has no desire to get come on his clothes, and he is suddenly reminded of his unexpected desire for McCree’s cock and McCree’s release that first time. He grips McCree’s wrists and presses them away, uses them as leverage to get McCree deeper down his throat, and grazes the base of McCree’s cock with his teeth. McCree’s hips stutter. He comes with a shout, and Hanzo works to swallow around his release. 

McCree tastes strangely sweet. That’s almost as surprising as Hanzo reaching down and finding himself rock hard, his cock already leaking precome. 

“None o’ that,” McCree slurs when he sees where Hanzo’s hand’s gone. “C’mere, ‘s my turn now.”

“There’s no need, I can—“

“Shut up.” McCree pulls Hanzo up to him, arranges him so that he’s sitting astride McCree’s thighs. McCree’s softening cock rests on his thigh, wet from Hanzo’s mouth, and it makes Hanzo’s ass clench.

“Ah, that’s unexpected—“

“You bet,” McCree mutters, undisturbed by the _non_ _sequitur_. “Get rid of these, will you? You sucked my brains outta my dick, I still need a moment. And I wanna see.”

“You like that.” Hanzo pushes his pants down his thighs. He’s still mildly surprised that his cock springs up to attention. He doesn’t remember this being the norm, before. 

“Sure,” McCree says, giving Hanzo’s cock an easy pull. It’s electrifying, and Hanzo chokes. “But mostly, I like you.” McCree keeps an easy pace, other hand sweeping up and down Hanzo’s arm, across his back and up his chest, playfully tweaking a nipple. Hanzo buries his face in the crook of McCree’s neck because suddenly, it’s too much. “Hey, c’mon, y’know I like to watch. You’re gonna look up for me, darlin’? Look up for me, Hanzo, lemme see you, please—“

Hanzo doesn’t know what makes him crest, but his release is suddenly upon him, a violent tide of pleasure so unexpected it makes him cry out and curl into McCree, hands fisted across his broad shoulders. He gasps as McCree works his cock through his orgasm, timing his hand with Hanzo’s hips, and only puts up a token struggle when McCree cradles his head to tilt his head up. “Must you always have your way,” Hanzo says tiredly. 

“If I did, I’d know what the fuck was goin’ on,” McCree mutters. “That was louder than I’ve ever heard you come.”

“You’ve only heard me once before.”

“Yeah, and you’re as silent as a mouse. Wanted to make sure I didn’t break you. What with the, ah—“ At least, McCree has the decency to look embarrassed. 

Hanzo raises an eyebrow. “The... confession?”

McCree snorts. “Sure, if that’s what you wanna call it. But I’m hopin’ it’s not a goddamn surprise.”

Hanzo flushes and tries to turn his face away, but McCree won’t let him. “We spend a lot of time together,” he ends up grunting in acknowledgement. “We train when we are both up at night, we sometimes keep each other company when we meet in the kitchen, and we work well together when deployed. We drink together. And you initiated sex that first time.”

“Talk about a sitrep,” McCree says. “Glowing clinical assessment there, Shimada.” 

“What do you want from me, McCree?” Hanzo tucks himself back into his trousers. He is starting to shiver despite McCree’s nearby warmth. 

McCree sighs. “I’m gonna sound like a goddamn teenager, but—I can’t get a read for this, Hanzo. All these things you just said—and what I said—y’know I like your company. I like your wit, I like working with you. I like you.”

“Not many people do,” Hanzo says quietly. “Do you think I suffer fools gladly?” 

McCree huffs out a small laugh. “I know you don’t.” 

“Then do not ask for confirmation of what you already know,” Hanzo says. 

“Now wait here,” McCree protests. “There’s a difference between spending time together and blowing each other’s brains out.”

“There’s only one person here who got blown, and it certainly wasn’t me,” Hanzo says.

“Yeah, you only went off like a rocket when I whispered a sweet nothing to you. You ain’t got ground to stand on, here.”

Hanzo opens his mouth, closes it, and then sighs. “Correct,” he says, after a while. “McCree—“

“You had my dick all the way down your throat jus’ now, _please_ call me Jesse”. 

“Jesse.” Saying it makes Hanzo’s stomach flutter. “Jesse—“

“Goddamn it,” McCree mutters. Hanzo watches the deep flush rising across his cheeks with interest. “Proceed, you bastard.” 

Hanzo stifles a laugh. “You know how I feel, now.”

“Actually,” McCree says, and Hanzo realises he has very neatly walked into a trap. 

“Peace,” Hanzo says. “I do not object to—no, that isn’t quite—“ he stops, frustrated. “It is difficult to put into words,” he finally says, conveniently looking at the wall behind McCree’s head. He’s thankful McCree doesn’t call him out on it. “I have had... trysts. When I was much younger, back when sex was new. But it wasn’t—I have never felt as the books describe it,” he continues. “It has never felt like a need, and until recently, I had done without.” 

McCree’s eyes narrow. “When you say ‘recently’, you mean me. And when you say younger, you mean... what? Ten years ago?” 

“More like twenty.”

“Did I break a chastity vow?” McCree looks comically horrified. “I joke, I joke,” he says hurriedly when Hanzo’s mouth pinches. “...I don’t rightly know where this leaves me. I like you, Hanzo, and I really like makin’ you feel good, and watchin’ you feel good. ‘M not gonna tell you the contrary.”

“I wouldn’t believe you even if you did,” Hanzo mutters. “The way you watch me even when others are around—even Reinhardt will know.” 

“Reinhardt has children, he definitely knows I wanna fuck your brains out.” 

“I see you are no longer using euphemisms.” 

McCree shrugs. “Yeah, well. You’ve avoided and deflected me twice now. What do _you_ want? That’s your million credit question right there, darlin’. And I gotta be honest: it’s gonna be difficult for me to not wanna lay you down and pound into you, but I ain’t got any expectations. I like you, Hanzo, and that ain’t contingent on gettin’ to touch your privates.” 

McCree’s words are an unexpected hot punch of desire in Hanzo’s gut. “You—“

“I mean, I’ve touched them now, so I’m not gonna lie, that’s gonna be difficult to forget, but—“

“Jesse,” Hanzo interrupt. “You misunderstand. Do I look like I am merely tolerating your touch?”

“You don’t.” McCree is suddenly very serious. “You sometimes look surprised, like—“ McCree winces. “Like you don’t think you’re gonna enjoy yourself. But then I’m mightily hopin’ you are, ‘cause it sure seems like it. It reminds me of how you can be with Genji. I don’t—ah, I don’t enjoy that.”

“That’s a fair assessment,” Hanzo says, pensive. “You read me well.” He takes a deep breath, then deliberately leans against McCree, fitting his head under McCree’s chin. “You’re right, that I don’t expect much out of sex. I didn’t particularly enjoy it twenty years ago. It’s nice, but sake is better.” He feels McCree’s chest shake with silent laughter. “But you must understand, Jesse— no sex I’ve had has felt the way it feels with you.”

McCree sounds strangled when he asks, “That why you’re so surprised?” When Hanzo nods, he  _isn’t_ surprised that one of McCree’s hands come to cradle the back of his head. “Even though I’m pretty sure you didn’t feel like suckin’ my dick just now?”

Hanzo elbows him in the ribs. “You were looking at my mouth. And if I can give you want you want, the way you did to me before, why should I just wait for some arbitrary right moment?”

“I mean, that’s the way it usually works,” McCree says. “Horniness‘s a two-way street, partner.”

Hanzo shrugs. “When you were in my mouth and I looked at you, it got me there. Does it matter where I started? Unless it matters to you. And in this case—” 

“Christ,” McCree mutters. “I just—I don’t wanna overstep. And seems to me this is a ripe situation for it.” 

“I offered,” Hanzo points out. “And when I did, I didn’t think I was going to get anything ‘out of it’, as you would say.”

“Then why the hell didya?”

Hanzo shrugs. “It is customary, is it not?”

“Yeah, deep throating’s customary all right.” Hanzo can taste McCree’s sarcasm. “I hope you don’t expect this kinda performance. Put me and my mouth to shame.”

“And you have a big mouth, too. What a disappointment.”

“Ass.” McCree cradles him closer. “This a thing, then, I’m assumin’? Next time our dicks can touch?” 

“I thought people defined a thing if their lips touched first,” Hanzo says.

McCree laughs. “That’s what’s customary ‘round these parts, yeah. That a thing you wanna do?”

Hanzo noses along McCree’s jaw. “I wouldn't want to be disrespectful.”

McCree snorts. “That’s _never_ been your problem, no siree—“

Hanzo kisses him. He doesn’t expect much of it—kissing had always been a prelude to something else, before, and only women seemed to expect it. But McCree’s lips are full and soft, still open where he was arguing, and he tastes faintly of his favourite bourbon. 

Not much in Hanzo’s life has been soft. 

McCree makes a noise Hanzo swallows, and when he starts kissing back, expertly coaxing Hanzo’s tongue into exploring his mouth, nipping at Hanzo’s bottom lip and soothing it with small licks, it’s soft and slow and _wet_ , and the heat Hanzo’s started associating with McCree pools down into his gut. 

“Good?” McCree rumbles. “Your eyes are still open.”

“I enjoy watching you,” Hanzo says. He pecks McCree on the lips without blinking, just for good measure. 

“Do you now.” McCree’s smile is slow and warm, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That kiss workin’ for you too?”

“Almost as well as sake.” 

McCree guffaws. “I see where I rank.” He tries to grab the bourbon and the sake bottles. “Can’t rightly get to the glasses, darlin’, but I wanna drink to this anyways.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes, kisses McCree lightly, and gets off his legs to gather both the bottles and their respective glasses. “Let me pour.” 

 

The third time it happens, Hanzo isn’t quite expecting it. It’s because McCree has taken to kissing him at random, quick pecks on the lips in the kitchen or longer exchanges—Hanzo refuses to call them make-out sessions—at night, when they have tired each other out and are sweaty and bruised. On the roof, McCree will gather Hanzo close as they watch the sun bleed into the horizon, and when Hanzo is sent on reconnaissance missions McCree will give him a lingering hug on the tarmac upon departure and pepper his face and neck with kisses when he returns.

But McCree doesn’t make another move, and Hanzo has never felt so sexually frustrated in his life. 

He tries to relieve himself when McCree is away on a mission, and he fails miserably. His desire is tied to McCree, now, and Hanzo’s mind is not keen enough to make up for his absence. He only frustrates himself further, working himself into a frenzy of restless desire and worry. 

“You will take responsibility,” Hanzo hisses when McCree returns and finds him sweaty in an empty training room. 

McCree huffs with surprise into Hanzo’s biting kiss. “Why hello to you too, darlin’. ‘M happy to see you t—”

Hanzo snorts, pulls the hands framing his face away to place them on his own ass and pulls their bodies together, pressing his growing hardness in the crease of McCree’s groin. “You make promises and you don’t deliver.” Hanzo mouths at McCree’s jaw, licks along the grain of the hair there. 

“I was waitin’ for your goddamn green light,” McCree groans. He sticks his tongue down Hanzo’s throat and a hand down his pants, and Hanzo tumbles them both down to the training mats with a satisfied grunt. 

“I see I must I always do the work—“ 

McCree laughs into his mouth and tries to flip them over so Hanzo’s underneath him. Hanzo lets him. “Hearin’ you loud an’ clear, darlin’. Let’s see if I can make you last longer this time.” McCree pushes Hanzo’s drenched t-shirt up with both hands and strokes up and down his flank, palms squeezing at Hanzo’s pecs whenever he gets his hands full. “Goddamn, Hanzo. Get this thing off, will you?” 

Hanzo shrugs off his t-shirt and leans back on his elbows. He looks at McCree, who has both hands on Hanzo’s hipbones and is sitting on his thighs, looking conflicted. “Do you need directions?”

“Smartass. Been goin’ straight to your dick all this time, wanna try somethin’ a lil’ different.” McCree leans in until he’s all but nose to nose with Hanzo. “Hi there.” He kisses the corner of Hanzo’s mouth. 

“This isn’t different,” Hanzo says, even though his breath picks up. 

McCree hums, slowly working his way along Hanzo’s jaw. He leaves slow, open-mouthed kisses along Hanzo’s jugular and one long, deep press of his mouth against Hanzo’s airway. It makes Hanzo buck up and choke.

“Jesse—“

McCree sounds strangled when he says, “Tryin’ to take my time here, for a change—you OK with that?” He continues kissing his way down Hanzo’s chest, pinches one of his nipples with his prosthetic hand as he sucks his way across to the other one. Hanzo grunts when McCree starts biting at the muscles lightly, and when McCree finally gets his mouth on his nipple and worries it with his teeth, he swears and falls back to the mat, one hand in McCree’s hair and the other across his face. “Nah, darlin’, come on,” McCree croons. “I like all of you so much, but your face—“

“How is my face any better than the rest of me?” Hanzo pants as he looks for purchase on the mat, exposing his face. 

“I mean, your tits, God—“ McCree leaves a trail of bites from Hanzo’s pec down to his stomach, his beard rasping against Hanzo’s skin. He traces the ridge of his abdominals with his tongue, then his teeth. “Fuckin’ perfect.” 

“This isn’t my chest,” Hanzo feels the need to point out through the haze of heat that’s making him dizzy.

“Nothin’ gets past you, huh.” McCree sweeps his hands down Hanzo’s thighs, taking his pants and underwear with him, and almost gets hit in the face by Hanzo’s hard cock. “Why hello there, gorgeous.” 

“Are you talking to my—Jesse!” Hanzo hisses as McCree kisses the thin skin stretched along his hipbones, down into the crease between his hip and thigh, and presses his rough cheek to it. 

“You were sayin’?” When McCree looks up, his eyes are dark and his cheeks are flushed. His lips are so red and wet they almost match Hanzo’s cock. He holds Hanzo’s gaze as he lowers his head to nose at the base of his cock, and Hanzo’s cock twitches. 

“Jesse—“ Hanzo gasps when McCree suddenly laps at his balls. 

“I like it when you watch me, and when you say my name. You gonna say my name some more, Hanzo darlin’?”

Hanzo pulls McCree’s hair to tilt his head back up, filing McCree’s silent gasp for later. “I won’t say your name if you don’t do something right _now_ , you _tease_.”

McCree smirks at him, presses both his hands on Hanzo’s hipbones, and takes Hanzo into his mouth. It’s wet, hot, and entirely _insufficient_ as Hanzo cannot thrust his hips. McCree sucks him slowly and steadily instead, tonguing the tip of his cocks and pulling at the foreskin lightly with his teeth. Hanzo can hear himself make desperate noises, and both his hands are now on McCree’s wrists to try and push him off. He still has enough brainpower to know not to put them on McCree’s head—

“I’d let you fuck my mouth, sugar, if I knew I could take you,” McCree says regretfully after one particularly hard suck. Hanzo whimpers as McCree kisses the tip of his cock and rubs it against his bearded cheek. “Two choices: I blow you and you come on my face, or I come up there to kiss you when I jerk you off.”

“Those are limited choices,” Hanzo hisses, even as his hips jerk involuntarily. “Come up here, you maddening man.”

“I see you’re still not usin’ my name—Jesus!” McCree yelps as Hanzo bodily pulls him up, in a strange reversal of their first time doing this. Hanzo has no patience left; he hisses in triumph as he works his hand in McCree’s boxers and gets his cock out.  

“Your hands are bigger.” He pants as he brings their cocks together and shivers uncontrollably. “Kiss me if you want, Jesse, but please—“

McCree makes an wounded sound as he crushes their mouths together and starts pumping both their cocks with his his prosthetic hand. The metal is hard and unyielding, the pressure precisely too much—Hanzo moans and come, both hands wrapped around McCree’s broad shoulders, mouth open and wet and gasping against McCree’s cheek. 

“Fuck, Hanzo,” McCree mutters as he continues jerking their cocks, using Hanzo’s come to ease the way. The overstimulation makes Hanzo shiver and McCree grunt. It takes only a few pulls for it to reach the edge of too much. Hanzo could bear it, but he thinks he’s found— 

“Jesse, too much, please...” 

And McCree comes like a shot. 

“It’s not only my face you like,” Hanzo says when they’ve both caught their breaths. McCree is still sprawled atop him, and Hanzo isn’t about to move to let him go. They are both deliciously sticky, and Hanzo, strangely, does not feel the urge to shower yet.

McCree hums, licking at the skin behind Hanzo’s ear and making him shudder. “This was thirty minutes of me just sayin’ so.” 

“You like it when I beg,” Hanzo clarifies. 

McCree freezes. “It’s as much a surprise to you as me,” he mutters after a while. 

Hanzo laughs, and that makes McCree look up. “If a ‘please’ can give you release, do you think I mind?”

McCree frowns. “‘S not a requirement. And I can’t help but feel like you keep findin’ my buttons, and I still haven’t figured yours out.” 

“You stupid man,” Hanzo says. “It’s you.”

McCree presses his lips together but his eyes twinkle. “So you’re saying... I’m your button? I can also be your bottom—”

Hanzo groans. “Stop it.”

“Never. Shame my mouth didn’t do the trick, though.”

“It was too soft,” Hanzo mutters. “And I had been waiting weeks already.”

McCree laughs. “Noted. Anythin’ you liked?”

Hanzo flushes. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“I could,” McCree hums. He presses his hips more firmly against Hanzo’s, rolls them once slowly. Hanzo grunts, heat spreading through his gut. “But I think you might like tellin’ me, too.”

McCree turns out to be annoyingly correct. But Hanzo doesn’t mind—he’s collecting an arsenal of his own. 

 

The fourth time it happens, Hanzo is coming back from a mission—a failed one. Ten civilian casualties, the payload gone, and Lúcio injured. While he was able to shoot a tracker in the payload, Talon seems to have gotten its hands on some sort of damping, because they haven’t been able to pick up any signal.

McCree looks up to him when he marches in the kitchen. “Hey there, H—“

Hanzo interrupts him. “Would you be amenable to sex—right now?”

“Hanzo!” McCree hisses. “Yes, sure, always for you yadda yadda, but... what? Hey, Hanzo!”

Hanzo stalks to his room, McCree silent on his heels. When he punches in the code, McCree looks away politely. When the door opens, Hanzo steps aside, looks at McCree and says, “Please.”

McCree opens his mouth to argue, closes it, then steps inside. “Gonna tell me what this is about?” 

Hanzo steps closer, tilting his head up so that they’re nose to nose. “Things have gone wrong today. And now I would like to do something right.”

“ _You_ haven’t done anything wrong,” McCree says quietly. “Winston’s intel was fuckin’ flawed, and you guys went into an ambush. There ain’t a thing you coulda done differently with the setup you got.”

“We should have had better intel,” Hanzo fumes. “I should have taken out that low-level enemy operative first, the one placing the detonations, I should have—“ he stops and sighs. “There are many things I should have or could have done. But that is for the debrief tomorrow, and tonight, that is not what I want to do.”

“Whaddya wanna do, then?”

Hanzo kisses him slowly. McCree waits. Hanzo kisses down the corded line of McCree’s neck, past the edge of his shirt, then says, “Would you be amenable to doing this on a bed?”

“We’re already here, ain’t we, and I’m amenable all right. Have somethin’ in mind?”

Hanzo steers McCree towards the bed and topples him over. “You like to take your time,” he says as he divests McCree of his shirt. “With me, I mean,” he feels the need to clarify.

McCree suddenly hiccups with laughter and strokes his large palms up and down Hanzo’s thighs. “You could say that. Gotta savor it all now that I know I can have it.”

Hanzo frowns. “But you’ve done it already,” he points out as he leans down to nuzzle McCree’s throat.

McCree snorts. “Oh yeah, because you only need to have green tea once? Come on, Han—“ McCree gasps when Hanzo bites at the skin between his neck and shoulder.

This time, Hanzo doesn’t call out Jesse’s name, and he doesn’t beg. His challenge is to find a different set of buttons to push, and he does. He maps out every inch of McCree’s chest and arms down to his abdomen with his hands and his mouth. He catalogues McCree’s gasps and sighs, and discovers: McCree doesn’t enjoy much touch on his collarbone, but his nipples are extremely sensitive; so are his armpits, and so is the crease between his bicep and forearm; when Hanzo presses against his wrist and takes McCree’s fingers into his mouth, McCree actually _moans_ ; but when Hanzo kisses McCree’s flank and attempts to stroke it, he almost gets punched in the head—McCree is ticklish; his defined stomach is fair game, though, even as Hanzo frowns at his prominent hipbones. “You must eat more,” Hanzo admonishes, as McCree gasps when Hanzo bites at the skin between his hipbones. 

“Where I’m from, we make ‘em lean,” McCree pants. “Hanzo, darlin’, please—“

Hanzo divests McCree of his sweatpants and underwear and licks the head of his cock, just once. “I fear that I shall never get past your cock if I’m starting from the top down,” he says regretfully, pumping McCree’s cock lightly. “Next time, it will be bottom up. Now, would you like to come on my face?” 

With a cry, McCree does exactly that. 

Hanzo is so surprised he’s lucky he closes his eyes and doesn’t slap McCree’s cock away. McCree paints his face and neck with his come, and he doesn’t even have time to lick it off his lips that McCree pulls him up and does it for him. 

“You fuckin’ tease,” McCree pants. “This ain’t never happened to me before.” He gathers Hanzo close and tucks his head in the crook of his neck. “C’mere.”

Hanzo slumps over McCree with all his weight, viciously satisfied. He knows the sense of accomplishment will take a backseat to analysing all that went wrong with the mission tomorrow, but for the moment, he can bask. He mouths absently at McCree’s skin, and breathes slowly.

“You ain’t hard.” McCree sounds disappointed.

“But I’m happy,” Hanzo grunts. From McCree’s surprised inhale, his turn of phrase has surprised them both. “Maybe later.”  

“‘M countin’ on that, darlin’.” McCree tangles his fingers in Hanzo’s hair. Hanzo can feel the giddiness in his voice. “Wanna pound that mission right outta you, if you let me. But we got plenty of options.” 

 

The fifth time it happens, Hanzo stops counting.

**Author's Note:**

> Here, I have written Hanzo as ambivalent to sex: he’s had it (but seemingly under peer/societal pressure), doesn’t really care if he masturbates, and when McCree first shows an interest he sort of.. goes along with it because he thinks it’s expected. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to, but he isn’t written as ‘burning with reciprocated passion’, so to speak.
> 
> Him and McCree talk about it and navigate around it (after/in between all the sex, considering this is supposed to be a pwp).


End file.
